


Anders in Wonderland

by midnightprelude, trivialsins



Series: The Prince and the Apostate [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Minrathous (Dragon Age), Post-Canon, Smut, Tevinter Imperium (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2020-10-27 20:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightprelude/pseuds/midnightprelude, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trivialsins/pseuds/trivialsins
Summary: Dorian had called a carriage, to take them out of the stinking city and off to his home, somewhere outside of Minrathous. Anders peered through the window eagerly, drinking in his surroundings. They were coming along a wide, smooth graveled drive up a hill, at the top of which was a stately, sprawling mansion. The drive was long and doubled, and there was an ornate garden in the center, with fountains, statues, benches and at least a hundred planted beds filled with flowers."Welcome to the ancient seat of House Pavus, my friend."Anders tried to suppress his surprise, probably failing utterly. This was the home of the man who had just asked him if he, Anders the fugitive apostate, was serious about his affections. No one who lived in a mansion like that could possibly be serious about Anders. But somehow, strangely, he was.He was more certain than ever that he was dreaming.**PLEASE NOTE THE CHANGE IN RATINGS FROM M TO E.





	1. Five Years

**Author's Note:**

> This is a (hopefully eventually) collection of drabbles written for a larger universe by trivialsins, lethendralis86, and I in which Dorian, Anders, and Fenris all meet up in Tevinter after Fenris is captured and held hostage in the Imperial Palace in Minrathous. Trivial and I ship these two so hard that we decided to spin off some one-shots for them.
> 
> Eventually Anders and Dorian fall for each other, like the incredibly attractive, emotionally complex mages they are. These are scenes at various points of their relationship. <3  
Smut is denoted in the chapter titles with an asterisk.
> 
> Ch 1: The one where Dorian is afraid to lose Anders to the taint  
Ch 2: The one where Dorian describes life in Qarinus  
Ch 3: The one where Dorian reminisces about Anders as a healer  
Ch 4: The one where Dorian and Anders become professors in Ferelden. Dorian still hates Ferelden, but he loves Anders.  
Ch 5: The one where Anders rescues all of the animals in Tevinter and keeps them at the Pavus estate.  
Ch 6: The one where they get stuck in a cave.  
Ch 7: The one where Dorian and Anders go to a party and start a food fight  
Ch 8: The one where Dorian plans a nice dinner for reasons.  
Ch. 9: The one where Dorian gives Anders presents.  
Ch. 10: The one where Dorian and Anders have sex in a bath.  
Ch. 11: The one where Dorian and Anders talk via sending crystal.  
Ch. 12: The one where Anders has nightmares.  
Ch. 13: The one where Anders drinks stripweed tea.
> 
> -Midnight

Dorian was sweating despite the windows being opened and having cast a chilling spell. It was so hot and stuffy in the study, he could barely think. He had spent the last thirty minutes going over the same diagrams, not really absorbing anything. Tired and frustrated, he stood, stepping down the spiral staircase, and made his way to Anders’s own area of the library.

Anders did not seem to be faring much better. He was laying on one of the couches, book held up in the air over his head, frowning. His brow was covered in perspiration, dripping down to his cheeks. 

_ It is utter misery here. _

  
Noticing his approach, Anders sat up, smiling as widely as could be expected given the temperature. Dorian took a spot next to him, their legs touching ever so slightly. Even just a few months in the Pavus estate with little else to do than attend parties, read, and eat had suited him well. The Ferelden mage had tanned since they had met, his skin starting to develop darker golden tones, in addition to its usual rosy coloring. He looked more relaxed. Dorian had not thought it possible that he could smile _ more _, but somehow he managed it. Anders seemed happy.

Dorian thought of the question that he posed, not so long ago, asking him what had made him the happiest. Eventually Anders had confided in him, though not that particular evening.  


_ When I worked at the Pearl, _ he said, _ people saw me as something other than a mage. I could help them. I wasn’t despised. I could just be myself. _

But Dorian knew that “himself” was still an act, even then, in Anders’s happiest moments. He would take on whatever role his evening companions needed him to fill. No, Anders did not become himself until he reached Kirkwall, and even then…

When Anders had told him, Dorian _ cried _ , dripping tears and red eyes and everything. Anders had to be the one to comfort _ him _. He felt ridiculous. He felt exposed. But he was also close to him, which was what he had wanted, more than he had wanted anything else. He leaned into Anders’s chest and let the tears come, being comforted by the man whose pain he was feeling for himself. It was surreal--like nothing he had ever experienced before.

He did not want it to end.

After Fenris was safe and a war avoided, Dorian threw himself into his studies of the Blight. It suited him well--it was only a step away from necromancy. He sent to Orlais and *Ferelden* for works on the subject. The most recent Blights had affected the South most heavily and he needed their accounts, hoping for a medical examination of that subject. He wrote the Wardens. He wrote the Dalish. He even contacted Solas, who in a move that surprised him immensely, actually sent a messenger to reply.

_ D., _

_ I have received your request for information, but I must confess that I have little more practical knowledge of the subject than you. I know that the Blight did not originate with the Tevene, as is commonly thought. The Blight affected Elvhenan even before Arlathan fell, long before humans ever came to Thedas. I did what I could to prevent its spread, but it was clearly insufficient. I do not know how to stop it, once it has affected a living being. _

_ I wish I could help you, my old friend. _

_ I do not wish to hurt you any more than necessary. Please know this. _

_ I hope you find peace. _

_ -S. _

All of his contacts offered the same. _ Sorry, but we know nothing. Sorry, but there has never been a successful example of removing the Taint. Sorry, we do not know how to save him. _

Apologies and condolences. 

_ Five years, _ Anders had said, _ if that. _

And, if he failed, he would lose everything. He was not sure he could endure it. Being alone again, after knowing the alternative, was too painful for him to imagine. So he tried not to. He thought of Anders, his hair graying, with the same foolish smile. He thought of him growing slower, his movements losing their anxious energy, replaced with the sureness only time can give. He thought of his face being peppered with lines, still as beautiful as the day they had met. 

He would weep then, alone, not wishing to burden Anders with the knowledge that he was thinking about the thing that they tried to never speak of. 

Without fail, he would hear a knock at his door, and it would swing open on its frame. Justice would always tell Anders when Dorian cried, their silent accord. And Anders would sit by him, holding him against his chest like he did that first night. Sometimes Anders would shed some tears as well, but more often than not, he would remain stoic for Dorian’s sake. He was trying to fill the role of a healer, the one he slipped into as easily as breathing. And that made it somehow harder. 

He loved him, he knew. He had never loved another person before, not like this. Not even his family. They had always been too cold, too distant, too obsessed with him as a trophy as opposed to a son. Anders was different. He _ saw _him, flaws and all, and accepted him regardless.

_ Five years, _ he said. 

Five years together, and he would be lost forever. Dorian had half a mind to follow him to the Deep Roads, but he knew that Anders would protest. _ At least one of us should live. And it should be you. _

He couldn’t understand that a life alone was little better than dying. Anders seemed to think that Dorian would forget him eventually, but he knew that it would never be the case. He knew the emptiness that would await him, the day Anders finally fell to the Calling. He had been there before. 

But still, something foolish inside of him dared to hope. 

_ Five years is not so short a time. We defeated Corypheus in a year. We saved Fenris in a few months. With the right minds, we can accomplish so much in five years. _

He knew though, if he failed, and spent those five years with his nose in books, trying to save Anders, that what little time they _ did _have would have slipped away for nothing.

He could not sit idly, but neither could he fully devote himself to his studies. They both sat in the uncomfortable space between despair and unremitent joy, until time or a breakthrough would change the nature of their suffering.

He thought all of those thoughts, in the span of a minute that stretched to an eternity, and wrapped his arms around his lover, ignoring the heat. He wiped the sweat from Anders’s brow, kissing him where his fingers had just been. 

“Would you like to go for a swim? We’re not likely to accomplish much in here today.” Dorian said, doing his damndest to keep his voice from wavering.

Anders’s smile looked like it could have enveloped the world. “I thought you would never ask.”

Dorian, despite everything, returned the expression. Had Anders posed the question to him, he would have replied that it was in moments like this where he felt the happiest.  



	2. Chill of an Empty Bed

Life in Qarinus was simple--Anders would wake up first, a remnant of his years in Kirkwall where he hardly allowed himself a moment’s rest. There were people to take care of there, back in the City of Chains, too many patients to count most days. People that often nobody else cared about. Dorian suspected that the reason why he did it, why he had worked himself into the shell of a man in the first place, was that Anders felt a kinship with society’s forgotten. 

He had lost his family as a child, when the Templars had come for him, and had never found anything to replace it with.

Not until he had met Hawke and the others, at least.

He would wonder about that intervening years from time to time, but the thoughts would always blacken his mood. 

_ If he had been born in Tevinter, he would have been apprenticed. He maintains that he’s an idiot, but I have a feeling he says that only to hide from the knowledge that had he been given the opportunity, he would have excelled. Better to pretend to be a fool than a neglected genius. It hurt less that way. _

Every morning, without fail, Anders would be up and breakfast would be made before Dorian even noticed he was gone. Mornings were never his forte. Eventually he would realize the other side of the bed was no longer occupied, the void where Anders had once been enough of a reason to get out of bed as swiftly as possible. 

It was never necessary for Anders to do anything, but he would say that he liked the routine and liked to be able to do something kind for him in return. Dorian’s greatest fear, or at least one of them, was that Anders would feel beholden to him. 

_ He doesn’t realize, even still, that the money has never mattered a lick to me. And why would it? I have never scrimped, forced to sell my own boots for a serving of questionable soup. Besides, I have more of it than I could ever hope to spend on my own. My family’s legacy, and their fortune, dies with me. I would spend as I can before I go. And Anders doesn’t ask for much, even still. _

Dorian would join him at a table set with darkly brewed tea, cheese, freshly made biscuits, sliced fruits, and some exotic juice. Anders would set the place across from his own. Dorian would pull the entire setting over, next to where the mage sat on the bench, sidling closer to him, until they touched. He would kiss him then, bad breath and all, and Anders would laugh and jokingly push him away. 

Anders’s laugh was by far his favorite sound. 

After breakfast, they would usually spend the morning reading in the sunlight, not always together, but close enough that they could glance at each other from across the room. Sometimes Anders would come to him with questions. He was shy at first, embarrassed that his Circle had neglected some of the most basic training. He got over that nervousness quickly, and sometimes they would spend hours casting spells together, Dorian adjusting his movements slightly. More than once, Anders had caught his robe on fire. Both of their robes, actually. He didn’t mind overmuch. A wave of his hand, and the fabric knitted back together, as though it _ hadn’t _ just been struck by a stray peal of lightning. When Anders was casting battle magic, anything but flames, Dorian would always throw a tight barrier up against their skin, just in case. Anders was a quick study, but sometimes was almost _ too _ quick and would attempt things several chapters beyond that which they had been practicing. Thus, the fires. 

Eventually, they would both tire and leave the castle, swimming, riding, walking, it did not matter. There was a private cove they often frequented, finding out quickly that making love on the beach was much more uncomfortable and somewhat less romantic in reality than it was in the mind. Well placed barriers mitigated the issues for future trysts, but they would still laugh about that first time in the sand, and how they were both finding rocks and the like in the strangest places for weeks.

They liked spending as many hours together as possible, sometimes talking, sometimes in a comfortable silence. There was a time when they thought that their time would be cruelly cut short. When Anders became a Warden, he never imagined that it would _ matter _ if he died young. When it _ did _, it nearly broke them both. 

Justice was the one who saved them. He was not sure how he did it, but the spirit was somehow able to cleave all evidence of the Taint from Anders, cleansing him, salvaging him before it was too late. Dorian had always done his best to appease Justice--he never wanted to hurt Anders, and in a way, Justice _ was _Anders. The two were not separate, not really. Anders fell for Dorian quickly, and Justice had eventually warmed to him, as well. He knew that the spirit did not approve much of their… anything unrelated to his purpose, but after a few dozen conversations, he was able to convince him that if Anders was happy, it would make them both stronger. They could do much more from a position of power, than from weakness. 

And so Justice eventually gave up complaining about their time spent idling, or at least had lessened it. They worked on social issues in addition to studying magic; Dorian was still interested in improving the lives of the commonfolk in Tevinter, the slaves, especially. He was trying to develop a theory of governance that would allow for a transition to a non-slavery based economy with minimal upheaval. It was not by any means simple. Justice would sometimes join him, often wondering why it was so necessary to do all of this planning, maneuvering, thinking. Justice felt the pain of the people intensely in Minrathous, and yearned to end it with a single blast. He was learning, though. Changing, perhaps, inasmuch as a spirit can change. 

It was fascinating. 

The evenings in Qarinus were always quite similar as well. When the light of their candles began to burn low, the wicks nearly disappearing into the wax, Anders would kiss him on the forehead, turning to the door. Dorian might have stayed up later, in another life. Instead, he gathered up his books, set them away neatly, and followed his lover to bed. By his side, it was warmer than a summer night in Minrathous, but he found that like anything else, one can get accustomed to the heat and even crave it when it was gone.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluffier stuff to help deal with the last one.  
Much love,
> 
> -MP


	3. A Fever and Chills

Dorian was beginning to suspect that Anders enjoyed it when he was sick. The mage would probably be insufferable, if he wasn’t so adept at making him feel better. Anders was always incredibly affectionate, but when Dorian was ill, he would somehow seem to know when and where he needed attention immediately and without fail. 

A cold, and Anders was by his side with a steaming bowl of soup, reading to him.  _ Reading to him _ , like a child. When he was well, Dorian would have protested, he typically  _ hated  _ being read to. There was something about Anders’s voice, however, steadier than usual, gentle, and filled with compassion, that appealed to him when he was feeling down. Anders would read until he fell asleep, curled up in blankets, sniffling. When Dorian awoke, he was always still by his side, allowing the servants to prepare breakfast for a change. Anders knew that Dorian needed him there, more than he needed him to busy himself with chores. And Dorian was always telling him that he should rest more anyway.

A splitting headache, and Anders had drawn all the curtains in the room. Dorian’s mind was so occupied with pain, that he could think of nothing else. Anders knew the distraction that always seemed to work in this situation. With a little magic they had perfected together, a harpist could be heard, gently playing music that reminded Dorian of his childhood, when things were simpler. Music usually grated him in this state, but somehow Anders  _ knew _ what to play for him. It was soothing, just like the man who doted upon him. It would calm the mind and body both, allowing him to slip into a deep sleep. Anders would make sure his rest was not interrupted, turning away all of the servants and tending to his affairs as best he could. These were one of the few times that Anders would not touch him; Dorian’s skin was always too sensitive for it when he hurt in this way. He had never had to tell him as much. Anders just knew.

A fever and chills, and Anders had filled his bath with a strange, warm substance that looked and felt like mud. He said it was filled with rare medicinal herbs and had probably cost a fortune. Luckily, Dorian had more money than either of them would ever be able to spend. He was very reluctant to disrobe and even more reluctant to set foot in the murky solution. It smelled like grass and rosehips, but it looked like shit. Eventually, Anders had convinced him by offering to join him as well. That was all it took. They undressed each other, Anders’s hands even more gentle than usual, to avoid hurting him. Anders kissed him on the lips. When Dorian protested that he would get sick as well, Anders just laughed and said that they would then have another opportunity to bathe together. He kissed him again and Dorian felt faint. Anders helped him down the steps into the recessed bath. They sat adjacent to each other, in a comfortable silence. Anders rested his head on Dorian’s shoulder, his body rising and falling with each breath. Dorian closed his eyes and felt something wet on his nose. Anders had drawn some of the… whatever that stuff was.. against his face and was laughing. He repaid in kind, until they were both covered in mud from head to toe, Ander’s locks of spun gold turned completely brown. When they finally finished, rinsing off in the shower, his skin felt glorious and oddly enough, his fever was gone. He pressed Anders up against the wall of the bathhouse and kissed him deeply, as though he hadn’t just been shaking from sickness just an hour prior.

  
Anders had been a healer for nearly twenty five years before they had met. All of these things should have been expected; they had known each other for so long. Even so, the mage’s sincerity and skill always seemed to surprise him. Anders always seemed to shine when Dorian was ill. It was  _ almost  _ to the point where Dorian wasn’t sure that the odd cold or headache bothered him anymore. Almost, but not quite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGH I LOVE THESE TWO. <3  
I hope you all are quite well. Much love.  
-MP


	4. All the Aggregio in the World

Ferelden only had two things going for it: Anders was there and it wasn’t Tevinter. Otherwise, Dorian was convinced it was a frigid, damp wasteland unfit for human habitation of any sort. He would normally use a bit of wine to take the edge off of an unpalatable situation, but even that was so dreadful that it wasn’t worth it even for the alcohol. The food tasted like cardboard, boiled until it turned into a paste. Dorian detested Ferelden. That was probably why Anders seemed so shocked when he had offered to move there.

After the fall of the Circles and the troubles in Tevinter began, the Inquisition requested certain Imperial mages, Dorian included, to move south to train the newly freed apprentices and establish a more equitable system of education. It was a cause he supported fully, knowing Anders’s past. Doing something to alleviate the suffering of those who might have been in his position was enough to make even moving back to Ferelden palatable. 

When he asked Anders if he thought that he should accept the job, the man responded with a surprised laugh, “I have grown so accustomed to the warmth and the beaches and the food, I had never wished to see Ferelden again. And I had just gotten used to wearing silk...” He smiled widely before continuing. “But the cause is a noble one, no doubt. I approve, wholeheartedly.”

Anders kissed him tenderly; he knew what the decision meant and the reason why it was made. He always had a way of seeing the truth in Dorian’s eyes, even without him speaking it aloud. For coming from such different places, the two were surprisingly similar. It drew them to one another in a whirlwind that they had chosen never to leave.

When he remembered to breathe, Dorian pulled away slowly, looking into his lover’s eyes. “An adventure through the middle of nowhere. It will be grand fun. Trust me. You’ll forget all about silks and wine and sunshine.”

Anders laughed heartily, his eyes wrinkling at the corners as they always did when he smiled. “Somehow I doubt it.” He kissed Dorian’s cheek. “Although if you’re there, I’m sure I can learn to manage. After all, I  _ did _ live much of my life in the armpit of the world.”

“But you’ve grown accustomed to fineries, I’m afraid. I’ll need to spoil you in other ways. I don’t have nearly so many resources in the Hinterlands.”

Anders winked. “I can think of a few ways in which I’d love for you to spoil me.”

\--

Dorian elected to not live in the castle that was to be the center of education, instead preferring a private cottage a short stroll away from the campus.  _ Professor  _ Pavus. It had a strange ring to it. They had accepted Anders as faculty as well, though he was constantly saying that he was unqualified for the position. Dorian would counter that no man could conjure a better fireball this side of the Frostbacks. Anders agreed.

Dorian, when he wasn’t teaching, was typically curled up under a pile of blankets around the fire, drinking some Ferelden milk stout Anders liked that somehow tasted like someone was kicking you in the gut. He had decided that Ferelden was decidedly  _ not  _ fun. He enjoyed the work, he enjoyed teaching and research, he enjoyed occupying a small space with Anders, but he still  _ hated  _ Ferelden. The only positive thing about Ferelden itself was that he was closer to Skyhold, so they would often visit the castle and the denizens there. 

Anders, meanwhile, seemed overjoyed with the work. He mostly taught healing magic, at which he was by far the most adept member of the staff. No one else could boast a decade of healing all of the residents of Darktown from everything from toe fungus to unsightly growths to wasting diseases. Anders had seen it all. And he was  _ home _ , though he wasn’t sure precisely what meaning the man ascribed to the word. For so many years, home had been that worn feathered jacket and his patched boots. Eventually home for Anders, as he had said one night when they’d both had far too much ale, became wherever Dorian happened to be. After having been alone for so long, Anders loved getting to experience the alternative every day of his life. When Dorian came home from the Imperial Palace, back when they still lived in Minrathous, Anders would greet him as warmly as though he had been gone for a fortnight. When he  _ was  _ gone for a fortnight, he always brought Anders with him. He couldn’t stand being away from him for that long. The bed was too cold, the company too dull, and the evenings too passionless. 

  
When he looked at his lover every night, contented and gushing about how his students were  _ finally  _ able to stitch up a wound without scarring or how their incisions were becoming more and more steady, he realized that it didn’t matter that the wine in Ferelden was godawful and his feet were always damp. He had wanted for years for Anders to feel this sort of excitement about his life, this sense of purpose. He was barred from working in Tevinter without 10 years of indentured servitude and Dorian would rather walk through the Fade again before allowing Anders to debase himself like that. No, Ferelden would be their home, because Dorian would rather trade away all the Aggregio in the world to see Anders smile the way he did when he found a reason to live for himself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first Fictober prompt: "It will be fun, trust me". I hope to keep the month going strong with lots of one-shots, especially of my favorite mages in love. <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing!
> 
> -MP


	5. Fasta Vass, the Cats

Dorian came back from a week near Skyhold and his estate had turned into a veritable menagerie. When he opened the double doors, a doe ran out, into his lawn. There were fish swimming laps in his bathtub. He counted at least three different types of birds that he didn’t even realize  _ lived  _ in Tevinter. 

_ And the cats. Fasta vass, the cats. _

Of course, amid all of this mess, Anders was nowhere to be found. He scoured his study, looking for the wispy mage. He tried the stables, thinking he would be tending to the horses. He even looked in the kitchens, thinking maybe the man had started eating a bit more since he had left. No luck. 

Anders was missing and his house was overrun with animals.

The staff also seemed to have no clue. 

“Haven’t seen him since morning, Domine,” the aged butler said, sighing. “The poor maids have had a real time of it. I’m not sure where all of these creatures came from. There’s…” He caught sight of a parakeet trying to tear out a piece of a priceless tapestry and ran to chase it off. 

Dorian was perplexed. Anders  _ knew  _ he would be home today. It was only supposed to be a tour with the Inquisitor, meeting with foreign dignitaries, signing things, smiling. Usually Anders would come along, but this time he had decided to stay. He was feeling a bit under the weather, he said. Dorian needed to be gone for some time--it typically took over a week of travel, even with the Kirkwall eluvian working. Anders typically hated him leaving.

Dorian hadn’t thought much of his decision to remain behind then, but now he wasn’t so sure.

_ What the hell happened? And where is he? _

He made his way into the eastern wing, where Anders and Fenris used to stay, stepping around piles of shit that the maids hadn’t had a chance to clean up yet. He opened the door to Anders’s old room. He liked it there—it still smelled strongly of him, like fresh linens and antiseptic and tea. Anders had begun staying in Dorian’s room half a year ago, but it wasn’t  _ his,  _ still, not the way this room was. 

Anders had left the room relatively tidy when he had moved into the master suite, but he saw the door to the closet was open and the light on.

_ That’s strange… I’m pretty sure nobody comes here anymore but me. _

And there, amid a pile of incredibly expensive tailored silk robes, was Anders. He was sound asleep and didn’t even notice Dorian’s approach. And right next to the snoring man was a mother cat, nursing four tiny kittens. Anders’s staff was leaned up against the wall, right next to his head. He looked at peace.

Dorian moved the staff, placing it gently on the ground, and sat next to Anders, leaning his head against his shoulder. Anders stirred, slightly, a smile on his face. Dorian kissed his cheek gently and Anders turned. 

“Oh! Hello! I didn’t think you’d be home yet!” He said, eyes still heavy from slumber.

Anders looked around, probably seeing light pouring in from the window just outside the closet. 

He looked startled. “Oh, what time is it? I must have nodded off…”

Dorian laughed. “I’m glad you’ve been able to sleep. It’s midday.”

Anders seemed to remember the chaos that was waiting outside the room. “Oh, Maker, no. I meant to have this all cleaned up and taken care of before you returned! You must think I’m out of my wits here. There were just… Justice kept finding animals that needed help. Out here in the country, there’s so little for him to do, so it’s his new thing. Usually I ignore it, but since you were gone and… Oh, I’m rambling. I’m sorry, Dorian.” He stood, shaking his head and rubbing his temples. He reached for his staff and Dorian held it out for him. “I’ll go clean everything up immediately. Can you just leave for a few hours and come back perhaps? Pretend none of this happened?”

“I love you, Anders.”

He didn’t seem to hear. “Such a mess, such a mess. It’ll take half a day at least and…” Anders looked at him then, eyes wide. “Wait, what did you say? Was it a reproach? Maker knows I deserve it. I’ve turned the house into a zoo!”

Dorian pulled him in close, kissing him. “I love you. That’s what I said. It’s fine. We’re fine. Apparently, they’re all fine too. You’re a wonder. I’ve never met anyone like you and I love you. We can take care of it all together.”

Anders seemed stunned for a moment before recovering and giving him a lopsided grin. “I love you too. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, midnight here!  
My mental health has been utter garbage, so I'm afraid I'm going to be stuck on adorable little quick pieces for a while... At least until I have the energy to tackle some of my longer projects. I'm still writing, clearly, but I just haven't had the focus I used to. It's improving.
> 
> In the meantime, have some sweet Dorian/Anders + kitten love. <3
> 
> Safe journey on the path.  
-MP


	6. Ferelden Midden Heap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Fictober prompt: "Just follow me, I know the area". Turns out, Anders didn't. :)

Frigid water  dripped from the stalactites and landed on Dorian’s head at irregular intervals, driving him slowly insane. He was glaring at Anders in a rare moment of irritation at the man. They were stuck, for the night at least, in a cave somewhere outside of Denerim. What had started as a lovely walk through the forest had turned into a harried sprint to find cover as he had quickly realized that they were terribly lost and a monstrous storm was coming.

He looked at Anders, frowning. “You  _ said  _ you knew the area. Whatever happened to that?”

“Well, it was a few decades ago, give or take… And I guess I’ve never had the best spatial awareness.” Anders grinned sheepishly, unperturbed by Dorian’s scowl. He knew better than to expect anything from it. “You’re not  _ really  _ angry are you?”

Dorian sighed, realizing what he must have seemed like. “I’m sorry. I’ve been an ass. No, I’m not angry. I just…” He looked around the damp cave. “Being out-of-doors always seems quite a bit more pleasant in my head than it ever turns out to be in reality. Particularly in Ferelden.”

It was true; he was having trouble adjusting to the climate. He was having flashbacks of when the Inquisitor dragged them all through the Fallow Mire. 

_ Now that was a particular hell on earth.  _

“At least there aren’t any corpses. Yet, anyway,” he muttered under his breath, glancing sideways at Anders.

Anders turned away from the fire pit he was building to look at him with that wide grin than made Dorian’s heart practically melt. “What was that, love?” He pointed at the pile of sticks in the middle of the cave and with a smile they burst into flames. “Come closer, I don’t want you catching cold.”

Dorian rolled his eyes but followed his instructions. He sat beside Anders, arms wrapped around his knees, shivering slightly.

“Why haven’t you dried yourself off?” Anders asked, placing a hand on his cheek. “Here, allow me.” 

Dorian felt the magic warming his skin, pulling all of the water from his soggy clothes and back into the air. It wouldn’t stop the dripping from the ceiling, but it was a start.

“Thank you,” he said. He was still sullen. He was stuck in a cave at least until morning with nothing to eat. He had  _ plans  _ for that evening. An entire set of entertainment. Possibly some Wicked Grace. Possibly some strip Wicked Grace with Anders, once everyone else left. The man was pretty terrible at cards; he couldn’t lie to save his life or, more importantly, his trousers. 

_ That’s not entirely true. He lies all the time, as easily as breathing, when he talks about himself. He hides his hurt so deeply, lying to himself, that he doesn’t even feel it anymore. That’s how Anders lies. So well that it’s not even conscious anymore, so well that he can’t control it. _

He had once asked how Anders had stayed alive for so long. Kinloch, being a fugitive, the Wardens, being a fugitive again, Kirkwall, fugitive… He had a particular pattern to his life. It was this detachment that he managed that would keep him from despairing. That and the fact that he seemed to value everyone else’s happiness above his own. A martyr, through and through. 

_ I will not allow him to succumb to that fate. That’s the only certainty I know.  _

Dorian also hoped that being with him, finally being free, had changed him somewhat. He was always going to work himself to the bone trying to help others; that was one of the reasons why Dorian loved him in the first place. His hope was that Anders wouldn’t be so willing to throw his own life upon the pyre in the name of justice again. Anders had too much to lose now, or at least Dorian liked to think so. He couldn’t think only of himself and his mad quest any longer.

The dry clothing was already starting to lift his spirits, if only slightly. He felt his frustration dissipating, thinking of Anders. 

_ He’s stuck here, same as I am, and he’s not given a single complaint. _

Dorian smiled, trying to return Anders’s radiant joy. He probably failed utterly, but the attempt had to be worth something even still. “If I had to be trapped in any sodden Ferelden midden heap, I’m glad it’s with you.”

“Oh, I’m very used to midden heaps, myself. I used to live in one, actually. It’s really not so bad once you get used to the smell and the feeling of never being entirely clean.” He laughed. “I know, I  _ know,  _ appalling, right? You’ve never seen me as anything but immaculate. It’s hard for you to imagine me as a pauper these days, not when you dress me like a prince.”

Dorian quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not so hard a picture to paint as you’re letting on. The first time I let you choose your own outfit…”

“Hey! I  _ loved  _ that outfit! It was  _ regal _ .” Anders looked mildly offended at the suggestion, but he was sure it was an act.

“Nothing matched and you were wearing about seven different styles all at once.” Dorian shook his head, sighing. “It gave me a  _ headache _ .”

Anders’s grin was once again beautiful and perfect. “I couldn’t choose, so I chose everything.” 

_ Damn him. He has the fashion sense of a boiled trout but the smile of a painting and the body of a... _

Anders continued, interrupting his thoughts. “One benefit of being here is that I can’t imagine anyone will perturb us.” He moved closer, a hand lingering on Dorian’s thigh, running towards his hips. “I’m sure we can find all sorts of trouble to get up to in the meantime.”

_ Oh, he’s right, isn’t he...? _

Dorian laughed, pulling him into a kiss, so fierce that it almost threw them both off balance. “Who knows? It’s very possible that I may not ever want to leave this cave.” His voice was little more than a whisper in the ear. 

He lowered Anders gently to the ground before finding his own place beside him. Anders seemed to not mind their own predicament overmuch and Dorian was starting to see the appeal. They were warm and  _ mostly _ dry, with a full evening ahead of them that would likely be much more fun than Wicked Grace, even the strip version.

They began with kisses, skin glowing in the light of the dancing blaze, the occasional crash of thunder causing one or both of them to jump. 

Anders looked triumphant. “See, who is to say I didn’t plan this whole thing? I get you alone, keeping me safe from that nasty storm, making love on the cold, wet ground.”

“You didn’t,” Dorian laughed. “You were just lucky.”

Anders grinned still, unphased. “Well, perhaps I was due for a string of good fortune. And I’ll take the benefits where I can get them. Now about that third point I made...” His smile turned coquettish, playful. 

Dorian felt his heart rate quicken.

“I think we can figure something out,” he said with a smile, returning to the task of pressing Anders against that cold, wet ground and trying to warm them both up a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some more love for my favorite bois! Man, they are just so so good. <3  
I think I've decided it's Dorianders appreciation month.  
Much love,  
-MP


	7. Party Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the fictober prompt "That's what I'm talking about"! It kind of went off the rails, but I stand by my decisions.

“Must I come with you, love? I love dressing up as much as the next man, but… to a child’s birthday party? It seems rather strange. And if we’re together…” Anders shook his head. “I would really rather prefer to stay home, drink some wine, run a bath, eat some grapes…”

Dorian shrugged. “If my attendance is required, then so is yours, by my own decree. Besides, you’d be better than me at this anyway. You’re excellent with children.”

Anders arched a brow at that comment. “What exactly are you saying about me…?”

He laughed. “You’re a child.” He put his hands up in surrender at Anders’s playful glare. “At _ heart _ , at _ heart. _Not in truth.”

“You’re the irritating one, don’t you know?” Anders rolled his eyes. “Not me. I’m nothing but perfectly pleasant.” He huffed. “A child… really?”

“It’s that youthful look of wonder and boyish grin.” Dorian pulled him close, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Take it as a compliment! You’ll have strapping young people complimenting you on your appearance until well into your seventies, I’m convinced.”

Anders sighed, kissing Dorian on the nose. “You should be glad I like you, or I’d set those fancy robes of yours ablaze.”

Dorian looked at him in mock horror. “You would _ never _ ! These are handwoven Antivan _ silk _ . I had to pay Josephine a _ fortune _to get them!”

Fire erupted from Anders’s palm and the man _ winked _. “Don’t try my patience, Magister.”

_ The audacity! _

Anders only ever called him that when he was in trouble _ or _when he wanted to sleep with him. Dorian couldn’t tell which was the case in this instance. He decided it was probably the former.

“Fine, I’m sorry. But please come with me. I’m sure we can find a way to make it fun.”

Anders grinned and the flame in his hand sputtered out. “See, you just needed to ask nicely and I would have said yes!”

Dorian looked at him suspiciously. “I _ did _ask nicely the first time and you rejected me.”

“Well, if you’ll recall, I was merely questioning whether I _ needed _ to go. You’ve made it clear that I do, to keep you out of trouble at the very least. I never said I _ wouldn’t _ go. I just said there were better things for me to do here, in your lovely manse.”

Dorian kissed him again, lips full of mischief. “I can think of some better things to do, amatus. We need not start getting ready for another hour or so...”

Anders seemed convinced, his lips opening slightly against Dorian’s. He wrapped his arms around Dorian’s shoulders, one hand behind his head, running his fingers lazily through his close-cropped hair.

“Fine,” Anders said. “You got me. An hour though… That’s plenty of time.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows, knowing the answer before he asked the question. “For what, amatus?”

“To find ourselves well and truly debauched.”

The words sent a wave of heat through his body, from his lips to his toes. 

_ Anders may look like he’s a Chantry choirboy, but he’s got the most creative amorous repertoire of anyone I’ve ever met. _

It was turning into quite a strange day.

* * *

Anders’s reaction to the party was predictable; he always made the same face when discovering a new aristocratic normalcy. The “party” if it could be called that, was at another magister’s palace, held in a sprawling labyrinth of gardens. There was a small lake towards the center and several miniature boats had been enchanted to allow the children to race them across the waters. He counted at least seven different exotic animals being led around the square, and a flock of peacocks was squawking at passers-by and trying to steal pieces of cake. 

Anders would always get a dazed look about him, like he had stumbled into some sort of mystical land that he couldn’t quite comprehend and definitely didn’t trust as real. His eyes would go as wide as saucers and he would get an even more ridiculous than usual grin plastered across his face. All of his usual nervous energy would be drained for a few heartbeats before turning into a jittering excitement. It was infectious. There was a reason Dorian wanted him along.

“You didn’t say…” Anders was still in shock. “This is a _ child’s _ birthday? When I was a child, I was lucky to get another helping of _ bread _. And after Kinloch… I forgot the day altogether.”

Dorian wrapped an arm around him from the side, drawing Anders close and kissing his head, gently. He almost felt bad bringing him to things like this; if Anders didn’t seem to clearly love them he would have stopped long ago. The gulf between their upbringings was so wide--Dorian’s parents had hosted similar parties for him every year. 

The thing about a party for a magister’s children though, was that it was never about the child. The parents didn’t care a fig about the child’s preferences. More than once, Dorian had requested that all he wanted for his birthday was a quiet afternoon and his father to pick up a few restricted books from the Senatorial library. His supplications were, of course, ignored. His parents threw a ridiculous celebration like the one they currently attended, with people Dorian didn’t like, with activities Dorian didn’t prefer, and with food Dorian thought tasted oversweet and cloying.

He took Anders’s hand. “Come on, let’s try and find the guest of honor and pay our respects.”

Anders laughed. “Pay our respects? You make it sound like a funeral! This is a _ carnival _.” 

“Most likely not.” He sighed. “Let’s go then.”

Weaving through the crowds, they eventually found the high table. A sullen looking pre-teen boy sat there, a fork slowly picking at a pile of cake. Dorian had met the young man before; he was turning twelve or thirteen, probably not wanting to be around all of these people. He could relate.

He sidled across to him, Anders in tow. “Hello there.”

The boy could hardly suppress a groan. 

Dorian raised an eyebrow, his lips forming a wry smile. “Dreadful affair, isn’t it? All these people cooing over you like this? What’s your name? Mine’s Dorian. And this beautiful fool here is Anders.”

The kid looked at him suspiciously. “What are you playing at? Did my mother send you to see if I’m having a good time?” He waved a finger in the air. “Oh, look at me, what a _ wonderful _ way to spend a day: out in the sun and surrounded by idiots. You can report back to her that everything is positively _ immaculate _ and I’m having the _ time of my life _.” His voice dripped with sarcasm only possible by teenagers. 

Dorian grinned fully this time, turning to Anders, “You know what, I rather like this little ass. He sees the truth of things.”

He turned to the kid conspiratorially. “If you give me your name, we can play a game. It’ll be much more fun than anything these poor sods will have cooked up for your entertainment. What do you say?”

The boy eyed him behind his black fringe. “Vero… My name is Vero. I don’t trust you, but anything is more interesting than sitting up here alone like a prized goose.”

“Well then, Vero. I have a proposition. We play a little game and the winner gets this bottle of Rowan’s Rose I intended to give you as a gift.” He reached into his robes and produced a bottle of wine. Very rare. Very expensive. Very inappropriate as a gift for a twelve-year-old.

The boy grabbed for it, but Dorian was too quick. “Now, now then. That’s not very sporting. We have a game. We _ play _for our alcohol, like men. And you don’t tell your parents. Understood?” Dorian’s look was deathly serious.

The boy nodded, extending his hand. “On my honor. What are the terms?”

Dorian laughed. “Simple. We pelt these other fools with food.”

The boy looked confused. 

“There’s point system, you see. Hit a servant, you lose five points. They don’t deserve that treatment. Hit an Altus, that’s five. A Magister, that’s the usual five plus an extra ten. I don’t count, of course. Hit the Archon… That’s one hundred. If your target manages to eat the food out of the air, you earn two hundred and fifty.” He held up a finger, silencing the boy. “But, if they discover their assailant, then you lose one hundred points.”

Anders blanched. “No, you can’t encourage him to…” He paused, his eyes getting a faraway look. “Actually, Justice quite approves of this idea. He’s not usually one for frivolities, but he’ll make an exception this once.”

Anders picked up a bunch of grapes, separating them from their vine one by one. “You’re ridiculous, you know.”

Dorian laughed. “I know.” He pulled Anders close and whispered in his ear. “But if this isn’t the best birthday that kid ever has, I’ll eat my own robe.”

Anders grinned. “I thought you said it was fine Antivan silk?”

“I’ll make an exception to make a point.”

Anders picked up a bit of forgotten cake from Vero’s plate, eyed it, and then smashed it into Dorian’s face. “Is that fifteen for me, then?” he said playfully.

Dorian rolled his eyes, licking the frosting off his cheeks as best he could. “I _ said _ I didn’t count!” He felt an apple hitting him from behind and turned to see Vero looking like he had just won their contest. “That _ hurt _. You both lose one hundred points.”

Anders pulled him close, running his finger through the frosting still coating Dorian’s face. “It was worth it, just for this, love.” Anders proceeded to kiss him on his cheek, using his tongue to remove the residual cake from Dorian’s face. 

While he was distracted, Dorian grabbed a pie tin from the table and upended it on Anders’s head. “Looks like we’re all even now. I lose one hundred as well.”

Cherries were running down his cheeks, bits of crust stuck against his scalp. His hair was stained red from the juice. His robes were utterly ruined. 

Anders just laughed.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Loves!  
It's pro-Anders week (until Oct 17th) on Tumblr so pop in and check out some of that feather mage love! <3  
-MP


	8. Our Little Bets

Everything was perfect.  Dorian had impressed upon every poor sod who would listen that it needed to be flawless, but appear completely effortless. Like just another lovely dinner in the gardens. He was to act surprised with every addition that came that evening, giving off the impression that this meal hadn’t been meticulously planned for months. That he hadn’t specifically requested Anders’s favorite flowers, white lilies, be grown right in sight of the veranda, surrounded by aromatic rosemary and lavender. The scent of the flora lingered in the air, subtly yet distinctly. The gardener had worked wonders, adding in small water elements and sculptures into the scenery, making the area look like something from a fairytale. Everything with Anders felt like that anyway, might as well go for the full effect.

The meal was to be both comforting and light, a tricky feat to master. He had been watching Anders eat for nearly a year. He rarely complained, but he noted which dishes he preferred over time, cataloguing them in a small notebook he kept hidden in his desk every night. 

_ Today he seemed to prefer the roasted lamb over the curried goat…  _

_ I haven’t seen him eat a vegetable all week, despite him clearly knowing the benefits to his health.  _

_ He had seconds of the pumpkin dish, eating it as though he hadn’t seen food in weeks.  _

Dorian had been noting it all, and working with his chef to design the most Anders-friendly menu possible. He even had purchased Ferelden ale for the occasion. He had Ferelden alcohol in his house. It was ridiculous, but Anders always made him ridiculous.

And the music. There was to be a string quartet, all the way from Orlais, playing off somewhere in the middle of the labyrinth. He wanted Anders to think they were fake, just an illusion he had cast for some ambiance.

He had truly spared no expense. 

Anders’s manservant knew that he would need to be wearing his best tonight, though he did not know why. He was a terrible gossip and Dorian couldn’t risk the game being given away too soon. His instructions had been simple: dress Anders in something that made his skin shine, brought out his eyes, but wasn’t so elaborate that the man felt uncomfortable. Don’t let him pick it out himself. Make sure it’s properly tailored.

_ I want him feeling like a god. I want him feeling worthy of the worship I will lay at his feet, worthy of my reverence, of my devotion. I don’t want him to think for a moment that he is anything less than completely deserving. _

Dorian was pacing. He didn’t think he was a pacer, but he was turning on his toes around the garden, walking in circles, waiting. When Anders finally arrived, looking a little confused by the instructions his manservant had no doubt relayed, Dorian’s breath caught in his throat. 

Anders approached him, grinning and wringing his hands nervously. “Dorian, why was I not allowed to choose my own clothing for dinner tonight? Are you upset with my taste in fashion?”

He took Anders by the hand, bringing him close and framing his face with his own hands. He kissed him fully on the mouth, smiling as he did so. 

“No, amatus, you are perfect. I just didn’t want you wearing something inappropriate and catching a chill again,” he lied, brushing a stray hair back from Anders’s face. 

  
He was wearing a slim fitting crimson doublet, embroidered with gold leafing. Slits across his biceps exposed the ivory silk underneath. His breeches were simple, comfortable, and tan. Warm colors always suited Anders; they would bring out the rosiness in his cheeks. He was thinking about how quickly it could all come off. The laces on this top were all in a line, a quick move with a dagger would undo them all in an instant. The breeches were chosen, he assumed, to also be quickly removed. They were tight, but without considerable lacing. 

“Really, Anders, you look remarkable.” Dorian pulled out a chair, offering it to his partner. “Care to begin?”

Anders nodded, laughing and taking the seat. “With all of the bathing I was forced into, I never thought I’d be finished in time to eat! Figured you would already be wrapping up dessert by now!”

Dorian crossed the table to face him. “Of course not. I would rather wait a thousand lifetimes than do something without you. Luckily for us both, bathing didn’t take  _ terribly  _ long this time. You must not have been as covered in gore as usual.”

“That’s true enough. It was a light day at the clinic. Nothing overly messy, for once.” Anders looked at the spread, taking some cheese. “Wait! I know this! This… Did you send for Ferelden cheeses, Dorian?”

He nodded, grinning widely. 

“Maker… what did I do to deserve you? You know, I haven’t had Ferelden cheese in  _ years  _ right? How did you know?”

Dorian shrugged. “A lucky guess. Just wait until they bring out the alcohol.”

Anders’s eyes widened. “No…” He squinted at Dorian, trying to tell if he were joking. “You  _ didn’t _ . You’ve  _ said  _ that you’d never serve Ferelden ale at your table.”

“Well, I suppose you can call it a victory, then.” Dorian laughed. “I decided quite a while ago that I’d rather swallow my pride than deny you anything you desire, amatus.”

Anders fanned himself, smiling. “You’re certainly starting off steamy, then. Should I just knock everything off the table and we can have our way on it right now? Dinner can wait… I’m not sure I can. Think of it as another desire you don’t wish to deny me.”

Dorian shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Enough time for that later, Anders. I… I wanted to speak to you on something.”

Anders winked. “You can speak to me on top of this table here, while you’re…”

“Anders, can you be serious for a moment?”

“I  _ am  _ serious. I seriously want you.” He laughed. “Fine, fine. What is it that you wish to tell me?”

Dorian sighed. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“Usually the beginning is a good option. I guess the middle can be okay too, working back then forward, but it’s a little confusing. Or if you’re being direct, just skip everything right up to the end?”

He grinned. “I love you, but you’re not helping.”

Anders sighed. “Fine, I’ll stop talking.” His face grew more serious and he placed a hand atop Dorian’s, eyebrows raised. “What is it, love?”

“What I’m trying to ask is, would you be willing to spend the rest of your life with me?” The words tumbled out of his mouth, all of his practicing in front of his mirror forgotten in the moment.

Anders smiled, cocking his head slightly. “Of course. I thought that was what we were doing! Have I been mistaken?”

Dorian looked at him curiously. “Do you not understand my proposition?”

Anders laughed. “And what, pray tell, are you proposing, exactly?”

“I’m proposing… proposing!” Dorian shook his head. “Anders,  _ amatus _ , I’m asking for your hand in marriage! Half of everything I own once the contract is signed, and if I precede you into the Void, you get my entire estate.”

Anders’s face seemed frozen, before falling. “I… I am so flattered. Is this what all of this was about?” He gestured generally. “You were planning on asking me to marry you?”

Dorian nodded, suddenly unsure. 

_ This certainly wasn’t the reaction I was suspecting. _

“Dorian, I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.” Anders’s voice was soft, forlorn. “I would not have you put everything you have worked so hard for, that  _ we  _ have worked so hard for, in jeopardy just for a slip of paper saying I inherit money when you die. Which by the way, will never happen. I’m going to die  _ long _ before you do.”

Dorian was stunned. He didn’t know what to say.

Anders took his hand. “I love you and I will always be here with you, but this is too much and unnecessary. You don’t need a legal document to keep me. I’m already here. I’m not going anywhere.”

An uncharacteristically nervous laugh was all that he could muster. “Is this what I think it is? You’re  _ turning down _ the most eligible bachelor in Tevinter at least, if not all of Thedas?”

Anders’s smile still held a trace of sadness. “Not exactly, but yes. I am. I will not marry you and risk the damage it would cause to your position, not after all of our work garnering allies. You’re getting powerful, amatus. You could actually  _ change  _ things and without bloodshed, perhaps. Do you have any idea how the Alti would react to our marriage? Enough of them already want your head. They don’t need another excuse to lop it off.” He sighed. “I wish you would have… said something before now. I didn’t realize you were considering this. The idea frightens me, if I’m honest. I do not know what the other magisters would do to you and I do not wish to find out.”

“I would like to see them try anything.” His eyes began to glow purple, the air crackling around him before it winked out and Dorian slumped slightly, hand against the table. “Amatus, I  _ want  _ this. I am not afraid. I don’t want to hide anymore. Please.”

Anders shook his head, resolute, but gentle. “I know you’re strong, but this is needless. I love you. There’s no need to codify it. This is all I’ll say on the matter.” His voice was kind, even though his words stung.

Anders pulled his chair to the other side of the table, wrapping his arms around Dorian’s shoulders. “Don’t think this changes a thing about my feelings for you, love. I just… It’s a dream. I learned a long time ago that sometimes it’s better to be practical.”

Dorian welcomed Anders’s touch. He craved it under normal circumstances and this was anything but. “You don’t think I’ll be able to change your mind?”

Anders shook his head, laughing. “No. But you’re welcome to try. I couldn’t dissuade you from it anyway.”

Dorian kissed him then, the smile slowly returning to his face. “No. No you can’t.”

_ The game is on, then. And I’ve a good track record of winning our little bets. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, Doribean, better luck next time my love.   
<3  
-MP


	9. The Healer of Darktown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was gearing up to write some more prompts for these two when I found a nearly finished chapter in my drafts! Here's a nice little time skip from the last one. I hope you enjoy! :)

Dorian had forced himself out of bed early that morning; he wanted to beat Anders into his study. It wouldn’t be easy; the mage was typically up before dawn and was a light sleeper. Dorian had mixed just a touch of a sleeping draft into his drink the night before and luckily Justice had come to trust him enough that he  _ hadn’t  _ spoiled the trickery. He felt slightly guilty, but knew it was the only way to keep Anders from noticing the sheets shifting before dawn as Dorian left their room and snuck off to make preparations.

When Anders finally entered the room, groggy and rubbing his eyes, Dorian had already set everything up. The shades were thrown open, morning sunlight spilling through the room, casting a gentle glow across the hardwood. Anders had slept in nearly until midday, which was unheard of. Dorian had almost gotten bored from waiting.

There was a cake, far too massive for two people to eat, bottles of wine and ale from around Thedas, and a small stack of presents arrayed on the table. A feast sat arrayed on the adjoining table, pastries and sweets and cheeses and cured meats and fruits. Anders couldn’t have eaten it all in a year, even if he had been determined. It didn’t matter. Anders could eat as much of whatever he wanted and then the staff would enjoy the rest.

The mage tucked a stray strand of strawberry blond hair behind his ear, a lopsided grin plastered on his face. “What’s all of this then?” he said, giving Dorian a curious look.

He shrugged. “I couldn’t allow your birthday to slip away unnoticed and you wouldn’t be one to start a fuss about the lack of celebration, so I took matters into my own hands.” 

“I never told you my birthday.” Anders cocked his head. “And today isn’t it. What is this?”

“It’s been a year since you’ve been a free man. I thought the day was as good an excuse as any to celebrate you, if you’ll permit me.” He stepped out from behind the table, pulling his arms around Anders, caressing his cheek and kissing him.

Anders laughed, his grin widening. “Maker, has it really been that long already? It feels like only yesterday...”

“The time has flown for me too, amatus. You have that effect on me.” He took his hand and led Anders to the table. “Would you like to open your presents? There are several here that should be opened in succession, but the order doesn’t matter, as long as they’re opened together.”

“More gifts, Dorian? Are you hoping to spoil me?” Anders kissed him, his hands running through Dorian’s cropped hair. “Well, it’s working.”

“Not now, Anders. In a moment. Gifts first.”

“What if I want a different gift?” He smiled wickedly, pinning Dorian to the table. “One you can’t wrap up and put a bow on?”

Dorian rolled his eyes, pushing him off easily. “You’ll need to gain a few more pounds before you can best me physically, love. Presents first. Then we’ll see.”

Anders feigned a pout. “Fine, fine. Let’s see what we have.”

Dorian held out six similarly sized packages to Anders, grinning. “Go ahead.”

He tore through the decorative paper, leaving shreds all over the floor. Once they were all uncovered, he looked up at Dorian. “What… What did you do?” He picked up a tome, running his hands over the embossed cover.

It read  _ A Manifesto on Mage’s Rights _ . In a smaller, but no less grand font below, it listed the author as Anders of Kirkwall.

“I took the liberty of having it edited, printed, bound, and translated. These are your words in Common, Tevene, Orlesian, Antivan, Nevarran, and Qunlat. That last was the hardest, but I know a few Tal Vashoth who owe me a favor or two. I’ve sent copies to every major library in Thedas, as well as any of the mage’s Circles and Colleges of Enchanters in the South and our academies here in Tevinter. The Southern mages need to know who it was who won them their freedom.”

Anders seemed stunned, almost shaking, tears forming in his eyes. “You… You read it?”

He laughed. “Every page, love. Multiple times. The first draft of the Tevene translation was actually mine, but I had it proofread by another, just in case. We’ll keep a few copies here, of course. It’s inspired work, Anders. You’re a true revolutionary. I love that about you.”

Anders practically jumped on him. “I don’t know what to say. Please forgive me.” He kissed him on the lips, salt from his tears flavoring his kisses. Dorian returned them eagerly before squeezing his hand.

“I’m not done yet, Anders. There are two more gifts, but these are just for us, unless you decide otherwise.”

“How? How could there possibly be more?”

Dorian grinned. “Because I love you, you fool. I can’t help myself.” He handed the last two to Anders, smiling still, the taste of him still lingering.

Anders opened them in turn slowly. It was two more books, handwritten, but no less carefully bound.

“These are mine, unfortunately, and I’m no Varric. I thought someone should write our stories. Yours in particular, but mine as well to make it even.”

“The Necromancer… And the Healer of Darktown? Of all of my names… You are too kind. What…” He paused, wiping his cheek. “What did you write?”

“All that you’ve told me. Every story, the Circle, the Wardens, Kirkwall from your point of view, your travels after, our time together thus far... There’s quite a bit of blank space towards the end--it’s a work in progress.” Dorian smiled, kissing his cheek. “We have a lot more living to do.”

Anders thumbed through the book about him, reading aloud passages from time to time, admiring Dorian’s florid handwriting. “This is a treasure, truly. I have never received such thoughtful gifts.” He laughed. “I suppose I should stop being surprised. Every time you outdo yourself. What did I do to deserve you?”

Dorian shrugged. “Existing?” He moved closer to Anders, placing his hand atop the other man’s. “Might I suggest a page?”

“Of course,” Anders said, laughter ringing through the room. “Is it particularly lewd? I hope you didn’t spare any details.”

Dorian laughed, rolling his eyes. “Not yet, but it probably will be soon.”

The last written page in his book detailed this scenario, the one they were currently living, but it didn’t end there. There was a final paragraph, offset from the others, begging to be read.

_ On the anniversary of his freedom, one year and two weeks after their meeting, Anders of Kirkwall was gifted a series of presents, the most dramatic being a proposal of marriage from a certain Magister of the Tevinter Imperium, and one that the offering party very much hoped he accepted. As Tevinter custom dictates that marriage to an Altus mage of good standing allows for expedited citizenship for a non-citizen spouse, the benefits were political and financial as well as personal. _

_ The final gift Anders received was the key to a building in Minrathous, purchased for his use in establishing a free clinic to heal patients in the industrial quarters of the city who would not otherwise have access to medical attention and sufficient funds to indefinitely maintain such a practice. As a citizen of the Imperium, Anders was able to practice medicine and treat those who could not typically afford it. _

Dorian grinned and pulled a chain out from under his tunic, handing the key over to the other man. “I hope you will consider my proposal, love.” 

Anders pushed him back against the table and this time Dorian didn’t resist.

“Yes. A thousand times… How did you know? How do you  _ always  _ know?” Anders kissed him hungrily. “Can I give you  _ my  _ gift now?”

Dorian kissed him back, laughing. “It’s  _ our  _ gift to each other and yes, you most certainly can. I want nothing more in the world than you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading about these schmoopy bois as much as I enjoy writing about them. I'm always down to gush about them, so feel free to reach out on Tumblr or leave a comment below! <3


	10. Rosewater*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE THE CHANGE IN RATINGS. IT WAS FOR THIS CHAPTER. SMUT AHEAD, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!  
This was from a prompt from the lovely oftachancer on Tumblr! Thanks friend! <3

There were fresh rose petals floating in the bath, shocks of red against the brilliant ivory of the tub. Anders’ mouth dropped open and if Dorian’s arm wasn’t around his waist, he would have fallen over. He grinned, woozy and speechless, as he pulled his lover close for a kiss, knotting his hands in his robes and melting against his chest.

“Roses are your favorite, if I recall correctly, amatus?” Dorian said, his thumb caressing the day old scruff on Anders’ cheek.

Anders could only nod, stunned at the level of care Dorian put into being with him, confused at how he had managed to pull the room together in a matter of minutes, and grateful, ever _so _grateful to be so thoroughly loved.

His voice was already breathless when he replied, his eyes half lidded with desire. They were both still fully clothed, a problem that Anders intended to remedy as quickly as possible.

“I usually pick a few each morning, just for you, just in case,” Dorian added, grinning widely. “Your world should be filled with beauty. Crafting that into reality is one of my most solemn duties.”

“Not too solemn, I hope?” Anders laughed weakly at the admission, baffled at the fact that a man as handsome and accomplished as Dorian picked roses for him every morning, just in the off chance that Anders might come to his chambers.

“Why, I take being your lover very seriously, Anders,” Dorian said, his smile reaching his eyes. “Now, we’ve both had long days. You managed to get blood on your robes again; I’m going to need to take them off to soak them. With luck, we can still manage to get the stains out.”

Dorian’s elegant, perfectly manicured fingers undid the buckles on Anders’ coat quickly. His lover leaned down, kissing Anders’ newly exposed neck as he slipped the garment over his shoulders. Anders was overwhelmed with the smell of his hair, Dorian said the scent was coconut, but he’d never tried one and couldn’t say if that’s what it was for certain. Either way, he loved it. Dorian pulled away, still smiling, and carried Anders’ liberated robes in his arms like a priceless antique, folded them, and laid them in a large wooden bucket. He pumped cold water and filled it, added a few drops of another solution that fizzed on contact, and set it aside. 

“I’m hardly ever serious, love,” Anders said, a devilish smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Except when it comes to you.”

Anders moved towards him and pulled him close again, slowly recovering his composure. He started to unclasp the buckles on Dorian’s sleeves until the one on his left arm was loose enough to pull off and he did so with a flourish.

“It’s not fair, really, you’ve got me half undressed and I’ve still got to fiddle with your blasted armor.” Anders said, sneaking a hand underneath the cloth and leather covering Dorian’s chest. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you did it on purpose!”

Dorian kissed him again, laughing against his lips. “_Everything_ I do is on purpose, amatus.”

“Oh?” Anders worked the straps on his shoulders free, untying the knots and unbuckling his sash. “Care to enlighten me? It seems as though you’d rather watch me undress you than make use of this carefully prepared bath. The water’s probably half cold by now.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, still smiling widely, before pulling Anders’ tunic up and over his head. Anders kicked his boots off and bent down to remove Dorian’s. He worked slowly, forcing his lover to balance on one foot and then the other, pulling off Dorian’s stockings and kissing his calves.

“Would you like me to stay down here?” Anders asked, smiling wickedly, slowly running a hand up the inside of Dorian’s thigh. “I’d be more than happy to, ecstatic, really.”

“No, not this particular time,” Dorian said, chuckling lightly. “And you’re wrong—though I do love watching you undress me—I know what anticipation does to you. I like to have you salivating while we’re still in our smalls.”

_Oh_.

He had to remind himself to breathe, or he would _definitely_ end up passed out on the floor.

Being with Dorian was so unlike the quick trysts Anders had gotten used to during his time at Kinloch. There were no Templars to interrupt them here; there were no rules saying they couldn’t be with each other. They could spend all day in bed if they wanted—Dorian had enough money for them to live on for life—but Dorian felt morally obligated to work and if he wasn’t going to be around, Anders decided he might as well be useful too. Dorian liked to linger over lovemaking, they would spend hours teasing each other over languid meals before jumping into bed.

It still sometimes seemed like a dream, like something he’d never get used to.

Anders’ eyes widened as he stood, appreciating his lover, delighted and invigorated. He eased Dorian’s chest piece off and unbuckled it from his trousers, letting it fall to the floor. Dorian was exquisitely muscled and cared for himself meticulously; Anders was thrilled every time he looked at him. His heart raced whenever he heard the clacking of Dorian’s shoes down the hallway towards his infirmary. His head turned at the mention of Dorian’s name. His body yearned to be crushed against Dorian’s in moments of idleness, when his work with his patients, potions, and apprentices didn’t consume him.

He was addicted, besotted, bewitched by the Tevinter mage and Dorian, strangely enough, seemed to feel the exact same way about him. It was wonderfully unexpected, but painfully longed for, the feeling of being utterly appreciated, completely accepted, protected, loved, and cherished. Anders was consistently overwhelmed by Dorian’s presence, always on his toes, trying to find ways to repay him, but Dorian just _kept giving_.

“Anders?” Dorian said softly, running a hand along his cheek. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything—everything is perfect. You’re perfect. This is perfect. I _feel _perfect.” Anders said, kissing him, reveling in the taste of recently sipped wine that still lingered upon his skin. “Let’s get out of all of this, shall we? Your game worked, not that it was really necessary. I want you. _Make_r, I do.”

Anders deepened the kiss, coaxing his lovers’ lips open with his tongue, while he unclipped Dorian’s belt without looking and threw it to the side. He shimmied out of his own breeches, pulling his smalls off with them, kicking them away. Dorian moved to pick him up, probably to deposit him into the bath, but Anders motioned for him to wait, eager to see his lover completely unclothed, even more eager to be the one to unclothe him.

Anders wrapped his arms around Dorian, allowing his hands to venture lower, past the taut muscles of his back, squeezing his ass playfully before dropping his breeches. What the leather of Dorian’s armor had hidden, his smalls could not, and Anders was thrilled to find that his lover was just as excited as he was. He slid them off too, leaving them both naked in the candlelight, Dorian’s skin glowing like burnished copper.

Dorian swept Anders up into his arms without so much as a grunt from exertion—_Maker he is strong_—and lowered him gingerly into the steaming water. Anders sighed as he was submerged up to his chest. His feet and legs would often ache at the end of the day from running around the clinic and making potions also required long periods of standing. Dorian insisted he slip into his rooms to soak out the soreness, even when Dorian was off in the library or meeting with some or other dignitaries. He’d made a habit of it, but always preferred when his lover joined him.

As comforting as the baths were, relaxation was never the solitary objective when they were together, at least not immediately, a fact which never bothered Anders.

Dorian dipped a toe in the water before stepping in, sliding down the side of the porcelain tub, nestling against Anders. He tapped a rune with his foot, releasing a trickle of mana into the glyphs around the bath, causing the water to erupt from the sides in a jet stream, surrounding them with bubbles.

In the next instant, Dorian’s lips were on his, giving him no time to admire the magic. His thoughts were pleasantly consumed with the kiss, already hungry for more. He turned to straddle his lover, kneeling over him, his cock hard against Dorian’s stomach.

Strong arms were on his shoulders and Anders squeaked in surprise as he was pushed backwards, into the water. He emerged dripping and smiling, his long hair completely soaked.

“That was entirely uncalled for!” Anders cried, whipping his hair around and shaking water everywhere.

“You seemed like you were going to forget what the point of this is. You’re not getting clean if you spend all of your time kissing.”

Dorian reached to pluck a stray rose petal from Anders’ hair, running his fingers over the surface and lifting the delicate petal to his nose before returning it to float in the water. The moment he was distracted, Anders drew back unleashed a splash of water at Dorian’s face, leaving him sodden and grumbling.

“Perhaps I want to spend all of my time kissing,” Anders moved towards him again, wrapping his hands around Dorian’s waist. “Washing is secondary, in my opinion. You’ve made everything so beautiful, _again_, love. If you keep this up, I’ll never be able to repay you. _Besides_, you were the one who kissed me first.”

He hoped that his slender fingers trailing between Dorian’s pectoral muscles and down past his belly button left little question as to how Anders intended to repay his lover. Dorian shivered at his touch, drawing Anders back onto his lap.

“You’re a wicked, _wicked_ man,” Dorian said, pale eyes sparkling. He pulled the ribbon from Anders hair, letting it fall loose around his shoulders, setting the damp blue cloth on the edge of the tub. Dorian had mentioned, loudly and repeatedly, how he didn’t mind when Anders forgot to cut it, so he’d been letting it grow out. He could pull it all up into a ribbon now, without leaving any behind. The longest strands were just past his shoulders.

“And you’re not?” Anders slipped his hands lower, so that they were gripping Dorian’s upper thighs, his thumbs tracing circles on the inside of his legs. “How terribly disappointing.”

Dorian grabbed his ass firmly, leaning up to kiss Anders’ neck and shoulders.

“And whoever said anything about that? We’re both horribly, inexcusably depraved. ” Dorian murmured, his words buzzing against the nape of his neck. “I want to ravage you tonight, amatus.”

Anders’ heart was thrumming in his chest as he turned to meet Dorian’s lips with his. Steam was rising from the water, blurring the edges of his vision, not that he was particularly interested in seeing anything other than what was right in front of him. Dorian already looked delightfully disheveled, his mustache lost the curls at the ends and his hair was sitting flat against his skull. Water was beading on his chest, dripping off his shoulders, catching on the hairs. Anders wished he could capture him in the moment, before remembering that Justice _could_. If he could convince his spirit companion, he could replay memories of Dorian whenever he wanted.

He giggled at the realization, pressing his lips to Dorian’s.

“Is that amenable, amatus?”

Anders pulled away, looking confused, before remembering what they’d been talking about. “Oh, Maker, _yes_. Ravage away. I’m yours, now and always, love.”

“Distracted?”

Anders laughed again, nodding. “By you, embarrassingly enough. You’re breathtaking.”

“I don’t blame you, amatus. But you’re lucky, you don’t have to settle with just looking.”

“No,” Anders said, fingers wrapping around Dorian’s cock. He cast, coating his hand with a slick substance, unaffected by the water. Dorian closed his eyes at the sudden contact, moaning as Anders’ fingers slid along his hardened length. “I’m very fortunate. I get a great deal more of you than anyone else.”

Dorian kissed him, their lips crushing against each other, hungry and wanting. Anders reveled in the sounds he was dragging out of his lover, his voice deep and primal and filled with _need_. He stroked him, settling for a pace that he knew was just a little too slow, and just a little too teasing. The water was too cloudy to see clearly what was happening on the surface, so Anders judged by feeling and by the look on Dorian’s face.

Dorian’s skin felt divine against his own; he managed an incredibly close shave along most of his face, which left it soft as silk against Anders’ lips, but Dorian’s skin was softer in other places. Anders helped his lover take a seat on the edge of the bath, his legs still submerged in the water. He spread Dorian’s legs and took his place between them, taking Dorian’s cock in his mouth, working his lover with his hands and tongue.

Anders loved the taste of him; Dorian was young and _clean_ and took immaculate care of himself. His lips encircled the tip of Dorian’s cock, tongue flitting against the sensitive spot just underneath the head. Dorian had his arms spread wide, bracing himself against the bath, eyes tightly shut. Anders placed one of Dorian’s hands behind his head, urging his lover to use him as he wanted. He took him deeply, causing Dorian to lean so far back he nearly fell to the floor.

Dorian set the pace, quick and steady bursts interspersed with languid spells that allowed Anders to make full use of his tongue. He could taste the pre-come weeping from Dorian’s cock, delighting in it and the prospect of what Dorian was going to do to him. He took himself in his other hand, stroking feverishly, pleasuring them both simultaneously.

“_Kaffas_,” Dorian said finally, pushing him off and sliding back into the water. “Come here, amatus.”

Anders straddled him, his hand finding its place on Dorian’s cock yet again. Dorian reached around him, casting the same spell before slipping a pair of fingers inside of Anders. They touched each other slowly, Anders relaxing into it, allowing himself to be taken, kissing all the while. Anders was growing desperate, unsure of who was making which unearthly sounds, unable to focus on anything other than the feeling of Dorian inside of him.

“Take me,” Anders cried out, unable to contain himself.

Dorian somehow managed to look tender in the heat of passion, smiling sweetly at Anders as though he was the only one who really _mattered. _Anders had been in love before, had loved deeply, still loved, but he’d never met someone who looked at him like _that_. He felt safe, confident, treasured, which above all things made him also exceptionally turned on.

“I want to look at you,” Dorian said, his grin widening, drawing Anders closer. “I want to see you unravel.”

Anders nodded, sitting on his knees. Dorian cast again, running a finger along his cock, covering it with slick, before guiding himself to Anders’ entrance. Anders took a deep breath and pressed himself against Dorian’s cock, sliding in easily. He readjusted subtly, rocking against it as Dorian moaned, slowly working until he was fully seated. Dorian’s hands moved to his hips, holding him steady and pressing him downwards. They found each other’s lips as Dorian met him halfway.

Dorian’s nails bit into his skin, the water stinging the cuts they left, causing Anders to cry out. He held Dorian tightly, each movement splashing water out of the tub.

“_Harder_,” Anders shouted, his body thrumming with energy. “Fuck, Dorian.”

Dorian pulled out and Anders gasped at the sudden loss of pressure.

“Ah! Why…?”

Dorian didn’t respond, just turned Anders around, pressing him against the edge of the bath, bending him over the rim. Before he could think, his lover was deep inside him again, thrusting faster than they’d managed in the other position. The porcelain was cold against his belly, a beautiful juxtaposition to the heat of the bath and inside of him. Dorian kissed his back and reached around to stroke his cock, matching the pace of his thrusts perfectly.

Thoughts, emotions, feelings, were all pushed aside as Anders lost himself to the throes of passion. Dorian was relentless and imperious. Anders could barely feel his legs; he clutched the bath tightly, worried he’d give out completely. He wasn’t sure how loud he was being, but he didn’t care, the whole world could know, the entire castle, and he’d not mind in the slightest, as long as Dorian kept going.

His entire body trembled with anticipation, trapped between Dorian’s chest and the bath, crying out in pleasure each time Dorian’s cock impaled him. He was almost certainly going to carry marks from the tryst, but he could already imagine the pleasure of the warm water soothing the aches away. Being made to take everything Dorian could give to him was scintillating; vague ideas of repayment entered his mind before being pounded away, the pace relentless and unyielding.

“Anders…” Dorian moaned, slowing momentarily. “My love—ah, you’re so, so glorious. Is this what you wanted?”

“For the love of the Maker, don’t _stop_,” Anders shouted, rocking his hips backwards against Dorian. “Yes, yes, _yes_, now _fuck me_.”

Dorian wrapped his arms around him, letting go of Anders’ cock. He didn’t mind, he was close enough already that the stimulation was just an added bonus. His lover drove against him and Anders met him halfway, their breaths growing ragged and unsteady.

“Anders, you… I can’t…” Dorian murmured in his ear, their bodies taut against one another. “I’m going to…”

“_Do it then, amatus!” _Anders cried, knowing the word—along with everything else—would drive Dorian over the edge.

One final thrust ended him; Dorian came with a cry and the sound led Anders to climax as well, their bodies entangled and spasming. Dorian held him there, arms wrapped tightly around his back, Dorian’s face resting beneath his shoulder blades. Gradually his grip loosened and he helped Anders slide back into the water, spent and panting.

The water felt as wonderful as he’d imagined, beautiful warmth against his sore body. He thought about relieving the aches with a trickle of Creation, but decided against it—the sweet pain would be a reminder of what they’d done together—how Dorian had known what he wanted with little more than a word.

Anders nuzzled against Dorian’s chest, washing away the mess from his own. “I love it when you do that,_ amatus_, I love it when you make me _yours_. Take control and use me like that.”

Dorian laughed, running a hand through his hair. “I do it for _you_, amatus, because I am well aware of your particular proclivities. I’m rather banal, I’ve told you, I’d make love to you sweetly, staring into your eyes the entire time, so saccharine they’d write songs about it...”

“I like that too! You can sweep me off my feet and make love to me in any way you want, I just want to be with you, to please you, make you see stars, forget everything else in the world.”

Dorian pulled him in for a tender kiss, lingering just a hair’s breadth away from his lips before they touched, sending a shiver down Anders’ spine.

“You do, love, you do. All of that and more. Sometimes I like to return the favor, though, amatus.” Dorian said, his eyes sparkling. “I don’t ever want you to forget how much I love you.”

Anders blushed, turning away, a small smile playing at his lips. “How could I, when I learn you pick roses for me every day, just in case I visit? I thought my life was over, once. I didn’t think it was possible, that _you_ were possible, but… How could I not believe you now? I love you too.”

They washed each other quietly, lost in their own feelings of contentment. There was starting to be a rhythm to what they had, and Anders had been longing for it to continue. Nothing good in his life seemed to last, but Dorian was almost enough to make him hope again. He was the closest thing to steady Anders had ever met, with more money and power than Anders ever had access to before. For the first time since he was twelve, he felt secure.

Dorian had given his life, his freedom, and the clothes on his back. He had a right to ask for anything and Anders would give it willingly, but he never did. He repeatedly said that he’d support Anders, see him safely off if he ever wanted to go. That fact alone made Anders want to stay. He’d been running his entire life, following a path that had never allowed him much in the way of choice. This, being with Dorian, was the first choice he’d really had, and the answer was stupidly easy.

“You are the best thing—,” Anders started.

“I’m so glad—,” Dorian began.

Dorian nodded, motioning him to speak.

“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, maybe ever, love,” Anders finished, smiling warmly, wringing the water out of his hair.

“I’m glad that we met, amatus, I can’t imagine life without you,” Dorian said, squeezing his hand. “It’d be dull and dismal, that’s for certain.”

“You’d have less trouble, probably,” Anders said, splashing him gently. “I’m a lot to deal with, especially with all the baggage.”

“Trouble? What trouble? From what I recall, you had very little in the way of baggage when we first met as well.” Dorian asked, looking around the room, feigning concern. “Oh, you mean the bit with the Chantry? Ah, nothing a few sovereigns and a couple of platitudes can’t smooth over, for a clever man willing to do it. It’s worth it, every bit of it, to be with you, to be with someone who isn’t afraid to do the right thing, even when it’s terrifying and uncertain.”

“I…” Anders stammered, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of crimson. “I didn’t think anyone would ever phrase it that way.”

“Hmm… I think you just lack imagination.” Dorian extended a hand. “Shall we?”

Anders nodded, following his lover out of the bath.

They toweled each other off gently; Anders felt every fiber of the cloth against his overly sensitive skin. Anders was still dazed, from the roses, the words of support, or the lovemaking, he couldn’t say. It was all a bit much to handle, and what Dorian was inadvertently doing with the towel was nearly enough to set him off again.

Dorian moved to remove the stopper from the bath to drain it, but Anders put a hand on his shoulder, drawing him back.

“We should probably keep the water for now, love,” Anders said, holding Dorian’s hand as he led them both naked to the four-poster. “I think I have at least one more round in me. Probably more, it’s hardly dusk yet. We have all night and if you keep peppering me with sweet words, we’ll need it. Now tell me more about what you think of me…?”

Dorian laughed, kissing Anders on the cheek before he was pushed unceremoniously onto the bed.

“Where can I even fathom beginning?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Come say hi to [Midnight](https://midnightprelude.tumblr.com/) or [Tryvyal](https://tryvyalsynnes.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr if you're so inclined! Comments, prompts, and enthusiastic flailing is always appreciated. <3


	11. Dancing Silks (Pt. 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders and Dorian meet during Inquisition and Anders is left behind to work at the Skyhold infirmary while Dorian deals with loose ends in Minrathous.

Dorian felt the crystal at his neck grow warm just a split second before Anders’ voice began spilling out of it. No introductions, no platitudes, his lover was already rambling and Dorian wasn’t given a moment to prepare.

“I was in your rooms—I go there sometimes when I miss you, they still smell like you, like _us_, really, it’s nice to just close my eyes and pretend you’re here, I often fall asleep in your bed, not that my guards are very fond of that, Cinna complains about the balcony still, but it’s dreadful having you gone—and anyway, I was in your rooms, looking to find something silky to wear, something that would be soft against my skin, like _you _are…”

“Anders,” Dorian breathed softly. “I don’t know if this is the—,”

“Oh, Maker, the sound of your voice makes me want to touch myself…” Anders purred into the sending crystal. “When do you return again?”

“A month, two maybe.” Dorian said, smiling, running a finger over the crystal at his neck. “Anders, I don’t think…”

The sigh on the other end was audible. “Too long, too long by _far_, amatus, I should’ve never let you out of my sight, this is dreadful, all I do is work all day and then I can hardly sleep, not without you, I think of you for hours, there’s no respite, not even…”

“_Anders_,” Dorian said, more insistently. “Anders, please.”

“Anyway, love, the reason I wanted to speak to you is I was in your room, looking for something to wear, when I found an old box. I was curious, so I opened it and I gasped, _gasped_, when I saw what was inside.”

“An—,”

“_Dancing silks_! I didn’t know you had them, and they _fit _me, you must not have always been quite so deliciously muscular, guess what I’m wearing!”

Dorian could hear a telltale clinking of the metal discs suspended from his old outfits and the thought of whatever Anders was doing to make them jingle was enough to make his head spin.

“I look ravishing, I thought you should know. I’m going to practice until you get back and then dance for you love, until you’re so feverish with desire that you tear the silk from my hips and take me against the…”

“_ANDERS!” _Dorian shouted, turning bright red. “I have _company!_”

Maevaris Tilani was looking at him with a knowing grin, stifling a laugh. “Oh, don’t mind me, he sounds cute, Dorian. Should I give you two a moment alone?”

“Serves you right!” Anders huffed, clearly trying to hide the hurt in his voice. “If you’d have brought me with you to Minrathous, I would’ve known.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d found a _lover _down south, my dear?”

Dorian grumbled, turning away. “I knew you’d make a fuss. And I was _right_.”

“Oh! You’re not even telling your friends about me? Maybe I should tell them for you?” Anders said, and Dorian could almost see the smug smirk on his face. He didn’t stop Anders from going on, part of him wanted to let the secret drop completely, relieved that Anders would be the one to do it and not him. “We’re both positively smitten, you see, head over heels, dreadfully, stupidly, disgustingly in love. Roses and chocolates and drunken poetry, he reads to me in Tevene, I take care of him when he’s got the sniffles, we have _cats_. He’s most beautiful, brilliant, brave man I’ve ever met and being away from him is like an illness I can’t shake—it’s devastating.”

“Anders, darling, I love you, let’s continue this at another time, yes?” Dorian replied, his voice just over a whisper. “Tonight? Are you free tonight?”

“All right, love,” Anders laughed. “We’ll speak tonight. I miss you, desperately. Come back to me soon?”

“The very moment I’m able,” Dorian said, a smile on his lips.

The crystal winked out and Dorian felt his lover’s presence dissipate. He deflated with Anders’ absence.

Mae’s eyes widened as she looked at her friend appraisingly. “Oh, you’re in deep, by the sounds of it. His voice was practically dripping with adoration. Maker, Dorian, if you don’t marry this man, I’m afraid I’ll be forced to never speak to you again.”

“Mae,” he whined. “We have work to do.”

“Yes, sweet, you do.” She picked up her books and marched out of her office. “You call him back right now and tell him you’ve booked him tickets on the fastest ship to Tevinter; he needs to pack his bags and head out at dawn. I want to meet him.”

Dorian raised a hand to protest, to tell her that it would be dangerous for Anders to come, to impress upon her the reality of the situation.

She waved him off, laughing. “Quite frankly, I don’t care. Life is short. Make it worth living.”

Maevaris practically sauntered out of the room, gliding across the floor as if by magic.

“Call him,” she said, with a withering look. “Or I’ll call him for you.”

The night was too warm for a fireplace, but Dorian sat by it anyway, leaning back onto the velvet armchair that so resembled the one he’d sat in at Skyhold. His apartment was smaller than his rooms at the Pavus estate, but living in the city by himself meant he had an escape from his family. He’d sat in the same spot every night to call his lover, to hear his voice and remember what it was like to hold him.

Mae’s words stung and he began to wonder if leaving Anders behind was selfish. He hadn’t anticipated being gone terribly long, just for enough time to set his affairs in Minrathous in order, but now that he was here, he could see himself returning. Maevaris was trying to create a political party that could change the shape of his country for good and he wanted, nearly more than anything, to be a part of it.

There was one consideration, one thing that held him back: bringing Anders to Tevinter was dangerous, for them both. He wasn’t sure how Justice would react. He couldn’t bear for them to go through what had happened in Kirkwall again. It was the only reason he hadn’t brought Anders with him, but he was beginning to wonder if it had been a mistake.

“Amatus?” he said softly, pressing the crystal to his lips. “Are you still there?”

The crystal warmed again and Anders’ voice came through, clear as a bell. “Is it tonight already? Time must work differently in Tevinter. Not that I’m upset.”

Dorian chuckled softly. “I miss you, too. I’ve _missed_ you. Do you think…”

“I’m listening, Dorian.”

“Am I enough? If you come to Tevinter, am I enough to keep you and Justice safe? To keep you from hurting?”

Anders sighed, his belt tinkling as he presumably sat. “I don’t know Dorian, I really don’t. I think it would be different than it was before… I hope, at least. We had just merged then—we didn’t understand—and there’s another thing too, though I’m not sure it’s my place to say…”

His voice was growing hollow, tinny, metallic; Justice was speaking, through Anders, both as one. “Anders is not the only one who loves you.”

“Really?” Dorian said, trying to hide his surprise. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“It is not Kirkwall,” Anders and Justice said together. “We are no longer alone. It will be hard. There will be work. But it will be worth it.” By the last sentence, Anders regained his voice. “We’d like to try.”

Dorian smiled, his throat feeling suddenly scratchy. “Take the Skyhold Eluvian to Kirkwall and book the fastest ship you can, amatus. I want you in my arms within a fortnight. Dancing silks and all. Or nothing. Or wearing whatever ridiculous think you can find—I don’t honestly care. I need you here with me.”

“Dorian? Are you crying?”

“You’d know if I hadn’t been so dense as to keep you from following me.” Dorian ran his fingers along the crystal, wishing Anders could feel them. He wanted to be held and agreed that sleeping alone was horrible; he wasn’t sure how he’d ever managed before Anders. His voice was wavering, but he didn’t try to hide it. “I won’t make the same mistake twice. Will you stay with me? Until the end?”

Anders didn’t hesitate and Dorian knew the answer before he opened his mouth, before he’d even asked the question.

“Always,” his lover said, and Dorian could almost feel the warmth of his smile.


	12. Dreaming

Anders’ hands were trembling. He dropped the dagger. “Why do I keep dreaming this? Why do I have to do this over and over? What is the point?”

“I do not know. It is finished; they all died that day. Your anger and pain overwhelmed me.” Justice crouched and touched Karl’s face gently, closing his eyes. “I would like to forget.”

“I will never forget this. I will never forgive this.” Anders angrily wiped the tears from his eyes. “Never.”

“You tire of hating them, yet you hate them still.” The spirit stood and sheathed his sword. He raised his hand and swept the dream away.

***

“Every time you dream it, the pain becomes less.” Justice crouched, kneeling, and touched Karl Thekla’s face gently, shutting the mage’s eyes. “Perhaps, in time, I could learn how to do it too.”

“It doesn’t feel less. It feels the same.” Anders gasped; his breath was a sob. He rubbed his eyes with his palms.

***

Karl ran a hand through his thick dark hair, frustrated. Anders stared; the way Karl’s hair glinted in the light drove all thought from his mind.

Karl noticed Anders gawping, and winked slyly, smiling. Like the stone of the tower, his eyes were gray, but beautiful. Karl heaved an exaggerated sigh, blotted the puddle of ink on their ruined work, and flipped the pages in the book they were copying back to the beginning.

Head Enchanter Irving put them back in the kitchens after that.

“Your fault,” Anders repeated, but the words sounded hollow and distant, like he wasn’t saying them at all. The light faded.

There were red banners embossed with a white sun, and the carpets were red with gold edging. Karl looked at him from the floor, eyes vacant; the wound, a searing sunburst brand, was still fresh and red on his forehead. The Templar leaned against a pillar, watching, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

“Your fault,” Anders’ voice was hoarse with unshed tears; his eyes stung. “You should have paid attention.”

There was blood everywhere. Blood spread from Karl’s crumpled body; it spread from all the bodies, except the unmoving shadows of Hawke and his friends. It dyed the carpet a deeper red and stained the gray stone. The Templar stood next to him, more like a ghost now, his armor golden. His sword dripped blood.

Anders’ dagger slipped from his nerveless fingers.

“Every time you dream it, the pain lessens.” Justice stared down at the bodies.

***

They were taking notes, laboriously copying the formulas for potions into their grimoires. White sunlight streamed through the library’s solitary, barred window. During the day they usually had to help the Tranquil in the kitchens; they were lucky to be able to do this work in the afternoon instead of at night by dim candlelight. It was good to finally have a friend, someone to sit shoulder to shoulder with at a desk in the ugly, gloomy library. He looked up and giggled when the older boy touched his knee, and shushed Karl, grinning; they had to be quiet, they had to work.

There was a Templar nearby, standing guard at the end of the nearest bookcase, watching over them. He was fully armored, his face hidden by a great helm, and his hands rested on the pommel of a bared longsword, but he was one of the good ones; they were safe.

Karl wiggled in his seat in the middle of a pen stroke, giggling and nudging him, and then his quill cracked, and a puddle of ink spread over his work, ruining it. Anders stifled a laugh. “Your fault; serves you right! You should have paid attention.”

He stared when Karl ran a hand through his thick dark hair in frustration. Karl noticed Anders gawping, and winked slyly, smiling. He heaved an exaggerated sigh, blotted the ink, and flipped the pages in the book they were copying back to the beginning.

The world froze; in the distance there was the sound like the tolling of a great bell. Although it was deep and pure, it was a warning; the world was breaking.

“No!” Anders jerked to his feet. He was his taller, older self, wearing his threadbare tunic and ragged coat. “I don’t want to do this again, don’t make me!”

Karl was still and quiet. His hair was graying, and he was standing. The bookshelves were fading. The cold gray of Kinloch’s library was warm with golden light from gilded statues and hundreds of candles; there was stuff against the pure white walls, featureless and indistinct. Rich, gold-edged red carpet replaced somber flagstone, and the red spread, flowing outward, dulling the gold trim, puddling on the edges; he couldn’t stop it.

Bodies lay all around. The forms of his companions were shadows, and the golden Templar was standing next to him, blood dripping from his bared blade.

“I don’t want to be here!” The knife was in his hand.

There was seared sunburst brand still fresh and red at the edges on Karl’s forehead, and his beautiful gray eyes stared sightlessly at the statue of Andraste.

“Every time, you dream it.” Justice crouched, kneeling, his hand stretched out, reaching for Karl’s face.

His armor shone, growing brighter, too bright, radiant, like the sun. “But not this time.”

Everything turned gold.

A golden snake slithered; it opened fanged jaws wide, becoming giant, curling all around him, devouring the statues, the banners, the walls, until there was only Karl’s body on a patch of blood-red carpet. The ripple of its glittering scales as it passed was mesmerizing.

Dark arms snaked around Anders’ shoulders from behind, embracing him; hands with golden, jeweled rings crossed his chest, and then touched his arms, his shoulders, gently turning him, arms enveloping him, holding tight.

Anders hugged back, desperately, clutching at a silken tunic with too many buckles, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Amatus.” Soft brown eyes met his, filled with feeling; lips curved into a slight, sad smile. “It’s all right. You can cry.”


	13. Spot of Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an anonymous Tumblr user who asked to see what would happen if Anders kissed Dorian just having sipped some of a particular type of tea...

“I’m so glad you were able to sneak away for a moment,” Anders said, carrying a silver tray laden with two full teapots, a platter of sweets and sandwiches, milk, sugar, and the teacups and cutlery needed to enjoy their feast.

Dorian pulled out a chair for him as he approached, meeting Anders’ grin with his own.

“Anders, look out!” Dorian exclaimed, a second too late; Anders apparently had eyes only for him and was carrying too much to watch his footsteps.

Someone had dropped a handkerchief on the ground, right in Anders’ path and his lover slipped on the pavement, arms flailing. Dorian grabbed Anders, pulling him close, waving a hand to suspend the falling tray in the air. He managed to salvage the tea, only spilling a few drops, and used a bit of force magic to set it down gently on the table.

“Mmm,” Anders purred in his ear, still clutching Dorian’s robes. “That was so sexy, amatus. I’ve never felt so supported in my life. In more ways than one...”

Dorian pulled him in for a kiss, tasting something deliciously bitter on Anders’ wind-chapped lips. He kept it as chaste as he could manage, but Anders had other plans, knotting his hands in Dorian’s hair and moaning softly against his lips, lingering over open-mouthed kisses in sight of the Imperial Palace.

It was almost painful to pull away and break off the embrace to take his seat opposite Anders; he wanted _more_, but it would have to wait at least until that evening, though perhaps they could stop off at his suite in the palace before his afternoon meetings...

He took the lovely porcelain cup from Anders’ outstretched hand, smiling as he noticed the golden ring on his lover’s finger, cast in the shape of coiling serpents and decorated with embedded gemstones: two sapphires, four rubies, and a diamond. The new addition, an heirloom passed down in the Pavus family since the Exalted Age, and one that filled him with warmth every time his eyes fell upon it, a reminder of the promises they’d made to each other. Love, support, and protection, for as long as they lived. Dorian set the cup down on its saucer and took Anders’ hand in his own, leaning across the table to press a kiss to his knuckles.

Anders’ eyes fluttered, a contented smile playing over his lips as he took his hand back. He lifted his cup to his lips, blowing on the steam, never taking his eyes from Dorian, except to offer a suggestive wink. A booted foot slid up his calf, scrunching the fabric of his leggings as Anders leaned back in his seat, grinning.

The conspicuous lack of bloodstains on Anders’ robe meant he had changed specifically to meet Dorian, even if the style itself wasn’t a giveaway: perfect for being outside, not for the messy business of healing patients. It was belted low, he wore no tunic underneath, and the griffon tattoo on his chest sneaked into view when he moved. Tantalizing, gorgeous, and confident—his husband was making him want to forget their tea and find a moment of privacy.

That would give up the game too quickly though, and Dorian played to win.

He returned Anders’ coy look with a sly smile and reached for a scone, taking a bite, careful to avoid spilling any crumbs on his robes. Cinnamon and cardamom, anise and cloves, lightly sweetened and buttery. He’d missed Tevinter pastries while he was in Ferelden, everything in the south was tasteless and cloying—they used sugar to mask the lack of spice. Even after Anders bought a book of recipes from his home, they could never get the flavor quite right, despite Anders’ surprising skill as a baker. The spices that made it to Ferelden were old—the Tevinters kept all the best for themselves—even the ones Anders had paid a near fortune to buy for him.

Anders kept his foot between Dorian’s legs as he took a sandwich for himself, sipping his tea between bites.

“So, what news from the Magisterium do you have for me, love?” Anders asked, his fingers idly tracing circles on the tabletop.

“Hmm,” Dorian said, considering. Everything moved quickly in the Senate, except for lawmaking, alliances breaking and reforming on the moment. “Would you prefer to hear something you’d like, something you won’t, or something entertaining?”

“Anything particularly scandalous?”

Dorian laughed, a tickle in his throat; Anders was wonderfully predictable.

“Magister Helenius of Perivantium was recently discovered in a particularly compromising position. He’s been taking bribes to conceal liaisons with a certain lovely young elven servant from his wife. When it was discovered...” Dorian chuckled lightly. “Let’s just say the Lucerni have gained his unwavering support in the establishment of a system of schools in the Merchant’s District.”

Anders lifted his cup in celebration. “And what of the young woman?”

“Oh?” Dorian cocked his head. “You mean the servant? He works for us now. No more handsy masters. No more temptation for our new friend. A happy ending for all involved!”

“And were you the one to encourage this romance in the first place?”

Dorian shrugged, pressing the cup to his lips. He took a sip, but the tea burned his throat upon contact. He shook his head, taking another sip and coughing, his tongue suddenly starting to feel too large for his mouth.

Anders was looking at him curiously, his head tilted. Dorian coughed again, wheezing, his throat feeling tight. His eyes widened and Anders dropped his cup, shattering it against the stones as he sprang to his side. His hands were already glowing before he touched Dorian, cupping his face gently, eyes staring at something Dorian couldn’t see.

“Amatus,” Anders breathed, his brow knotted with concern. “We need to get you to the clinic, _now_. You’re having some sort of allergic reaction and I don’t have the herbs to heal it with me.”

“Too far,” Dorian croaked, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed rocks. It was across the city—it would take at least half an hour to arrive there. “Tea shop?”

“Elfroot, yes, and prophet’s laurel, I’ll check if they have it, love.” Anders took his hand and Dorian felt the healing magic surge through his body, reducing the swelling slightly. “A stopgap, but you need more than that. Sit, sit until I return.”

Anders pulled out a chair for him and Dorian obeyed, his skin starting to itch. He pressed his head to his hands and closed his eyes, hoping Anders would hurry.

A few minutes passed and Dorian waved away curious onlookers, even has he felt himself breaking out with welts. Anders finally returned with a mortar filled with green and golden herbs ground into a paste in his hands. He scooped it and shoved the mess into Dorian’s mouth.

“Chew, hold it in your mouth for a minute, and swallow, love.” Anders said, pressing his hand to Dorian’s forehead, palms glowing as he tried to heal the damage. “That’s important. I’ll tell you when.”

The concoction tasted terrible; bitter and medicinal, with no honey or cinnamon to soften the blow. Anders would add them to his potions sometimes when he had a cold after he’d seen Dorian cough them up again, as long as they didn’t interfere with the medicine.

His head was pounding and he felt dizzy, but Anders was a comfort, smiling gently, brushing his hair away from his forehead, murmuring that everything would be fine. Dorian managed the faintest of smiles himself, leaning against his lover’s shoulder as he waited for the signal.

Anders patted his hand. “Now is fine.”

Dorian did as instructed, swallowing the herbal mush and feeling it slide down the back of his throat was nearly enough to make him retch.

Anders held out a hand for Dorian, helping him up, and used his other one to wave at an idle carriage. “Out of the city?” he called to the driver, who nodded and bowed his head, opening the door for them.

“Where…” Dorian coughed, his voice painfully hoarse. “Are we going?”

Anders smiled again, squeezing his hand. “Home, amatus. Healer’s orders.”

**Author's Note:**

> We hope you enjoy our rare pair hell with us. <3
> 
> -MP and TS


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